


The Story of How Merlin Invented Knitting

by PlaneJane



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 10:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlaneJane/pseuds/PlaneJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just like it says in the title.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Story of How Merlin Invented Knitting

**Author's Note:**

> Utter silliness, inspired by a commentfic written by Alba17 where Arthur thinks Merlin unable to 'fight his way out of a sewing circle' and a very [funny knitting fic](http://loveslashangst.livejournal.com/45418.html) written by Loveslashangst in the Torchwood fandom.
> 
> Originally posted on Livejournal in April 2010.

The village of Threeply sat at the mouth of a bustling harbor on the southern coast of Camelot’s realm. Prince Arthur and several knights had been sent there to extinguish a rather troublesome child-eating beast. Merlin couldn’t remember its name, only that slaying it had been a near-miss because _someone_ thought they’d be all heroic and try to do it the old-fashioned way. It seemed that finding out Merlin was a sorcerer had dented a certain someone’s pride. Still, the perk had been that during his heartfelt confession to Arthur about his magic, Merlin had blubbered quite a lot and that had lead to all sorts of comforting that had in turn had lead to other more intimate things which he could now admit he’d been fantasising about a little (alright, a lot) more than might be considered healthy. Anyway, that’s another much soppier story and is best saved for when one is holed up in the castle, mid-winter under a big pile of blankets. This story is much more entertaining.  
   
So with the ugly, mean carnivorous beast that came out of nowhere now thwarted, Merlin had some time to roam about the village while Arthur did something important and princely … Merlin tried to remember. It might have been shopping, if truth be told. Not the way the plebs did it, of course. Arthur was staying at the Lord’s manor and merchants came by appointment to ply their wares. Awfully tedious, but Morgana was so much more acquiescent when bought a trinket, Gwen was partial to anything sweet and Gaius, obviously, was always interested in hard-to-come-by herbs and extracts.  
   
Uther liked knick-knacks: souvenirs that represented the places Arthur travelled to in the outlying kingdoms, like carved stones or models of prominent land-marks and buildings. He had a cabinet in his chambers that he kept under lock and key, jam-packed with the things.    
   
The summer was fading into a chilly autumn and Merlin had to pull up his collar and brace his shoulders against the biting wind. Down on the dock ruddy fisherman, long returned with their morning catch, were laughing and singing while they sat in small huddles mending their nets. As Merlin grew closer he was entranced by the deft skill of the men, weaving and tying their flaxen cord in complex knots. Further up, under a ramshackle shelter were the women, working at some kind of craft with woollen yarn. It was with great curiosity Merlin approached and was further intrigued by the intricacy of their work as they threaded lengths of yarn in and out in a series of loops until a length of material was crafted. The women were in the process of making socks and hats, all of which looked incredibly warm.   
   
Now this wasn’t the first time Merlin had seen such items being crafted, but the skill was a rarity in Camelot, and warm socks a closely-guarded commodity. He approached the womenfolk and bid them a cheery hello.  
   
“Good morning, young man. You’re with Prince Arthur, aren’t you?”  
   
“Yes, I’m his manservant.” Merlin smiled his best smile. (The one that Arthur confessed made him all melty, and if Merlin ever told anyone else that, ever, there would be no more rimming for him. He hadn’t had to be told twice.) “Pray tell, good ladies, what are you doing?”  
   
And that is how it all started. The women told Merlin all about needle-binding and how they used a needle constructed from bone or wood to weave together the lengths of yarn. Before he knew it, Merlin was sat amidst the cackling brood, elbow deep in wool, binding his first row. He had such a good time; they were a filthy bunch and whilst Merlin kept his private affairs very much private, these ladies had no compunction discussing their husbands’ proclivities. In fact, Merlin came away with more than a promising new skill and a pair of mittens, he also had a few other ideas he might like to try out on Arthur. Apparently, these fishing folk knew an awful lot about knots.  
   
~*~  
   
Once back in Camelot, Merlin tried his hand at needle-binding with not much success. It seemed the long and arduous ride back had dulled his memory of how to do it. There was hardly any time, between servicing his lord, assisting Gaius (and practicing his magic) to secretly work on this new craft, but Merlin had deeply hoped he would have Arthur a nice pair of woollen socks made before the winter set in. Things were not going favourably in this regard and it added a cloud of surliness to Merlin’s otherwise cheery demeanour. Arthur had remarked upon it, but had put it down to him being saddle-sore (from the _ride home from Threeply_ , dear reader).  
   
One day, whilst absentmindedly shining a piece of armour, Merlin’s attention was drawn to the chainmail hanging over the chair. It needed to be mended. He stared and stared at the links each joined to the next then he began to think and as he did small sparks flew from his fingertips while he polished. Arthur had warned him about that: getting carried away with thinking too hard and letting his magic start misbehaving. Not only could it get him into all sorts of trouble, he’d once almost set Arthur’s nether-hair alight while Merlin was caught up worrying about some potion he was working on to get rid of warts. Arthur may have been more sympathetic were it not for the fact Merlin was stroking his cock at the time and should really have had his mind on the job-in-hand. Also, nobody wants a blistered cock, no matter how noble the cause.  
   
That evening, Merlin battled with his bone needle and length of wool once again and it occurred to him his problem was that he was all fingers. Now, Merlin was gifted with long and slender fingers but at the end of the day they were man-size and he was having an awful lot of trouble getting the needle through each successive loop. The scrap of needle-binding he had produced after days and days of perseverance was barely the size of his spread palm and was riddled with too-tight knots and too-big holes. It would barely do for a wash cloth.  
   
Merlin tossed the needle and yarn aside and went to find Arthur, who would surely take his mind off his frustratingly unrewarded task. He crossed the courtyard in darkness and found the castle quiet: it was clearly later than he had initially thought. He listened at the door to Arthur’s chamber but heard nothing, so he just opened the door and crept in.  
   
Arthur looked up from the manuscript he was perusing. “Ah, Merlin. You decided to grace me with your presence.” It was an observation not a question and was directed with mirth.  
   
“Um, yes sire. Is there anything I can get for you?”  
   
Arthur laughed low as he got up from his chair. “The maid has long-since cleared my supper tray and night fell two hours ago. As you can see, I have undressed myself, the fire is stoked and the curtains are drawn. What pray tell, my errant manservant, would you propose you could get for me at this late hour?” He approached Merlin and curled his hand around Merlin’s neck, drawing him close enough Merlin could smell the mead on his breath and feel the boozy warmth of his skin.  
   
“I don’t know.” Merlin looked at the floor, somewhat ashamed that he had spent more time alone with his needle-binding than he realised. He wondered whether he should confess his newfound obsession or wait until he had something to show for it and dazzle Arthur with a snuggly surprise. Only, after a week of closeted toil, he had virtually nothing to show for his efforts and held out meager hope of success.   
   
“Where have you been? I thought we agreed no more secrets?” Arthur leant in and kissed him softly on the lips.  
   
Now Merlin felt guiltier than ever. “I’ve been working on something and it’s not going well. I was hoping to tell you about it once I had something to show you.” He sighed. “I may as well give up.”  
   
“Now that’s not the Merlin I know and love. Come on to bed. Things will be clearer in the morning. If they’re not, I’ve got a whole list of chores for you to tackle instead.” His faith and optimism evaporated all Merlin’s feelings of guilt at once and replaced them with a stirring in his loins.  
   
Arthur never disappointed Merlin in bed. As with all the things he set about excelling in, Arthur had a scientific and determined approach to love-making, in addition to being inordinately affectionate, and Merlin was his one and only beneficiary. So, it was a well-sated Merlin that curled up in the cradle of Arthur’s arms that night and slept the sleep of the well-buggered.   
   
~*~  
   
Merlin’s eyes flew open to a sunny dawn and he abruptly sat bolt upright with a startling flash of gold flying from his fingertips as it came to him, just like that. “I’ve got it! I need two needles, not one!”  
   
“Nrgghh,” was Arthur’s mumbled reply.  
   
“I’ve got to go. I’ll send someone up with your breakfast.”  
   
With that, Merlin leapt out of bed, leaving a bleary-eyed Arthur barely surfaced from sleep, fruitlessly groping the warm space Merlin had left behind.  
   
~*~  
   
Merlin pulled out all the stops. He fashioned two needles from wood and set to work. He used magic where he could to ease the burden of his chores, he shirked the rest and barely thought how he would pay for that later. With grim determination Merlin took his wool and his needles and hid himself away in a neglected corner of the castle where he could work undisturbed. After tangles, tears, frayed yarn and frayed nerves … Merlin emerged triumphant and starving at the end of the day with what might, in a fair light, pass for half a sock.   
   
Feeling rather pleased with himself, Merlin went to tell Arthur the good news, brandishing his handiwork with a proud and beaming smile.  
   
Arthur was in a foul mood, brought on by what appeared to be a glaring hole in his chainmail and some unattended dents in his armour. He was sweaty, grimy (and tantalisingly stinking of sweat) and most likely further annoyed at the lack of a hot bath awaiting him. “What the hell’s that? All this time you’ve been skulking around with a couple of sticks and a length of twine, and you bring me this … this scratchy old rag and tell me it’s going on my _foot_?”  
   
That was a chillier reception than Merlin had hoped for. He tried to sell the idea some more. “It’s wool, not twine, and it’s actually quite soft, and it’s not finished …”  
   
“You nit-wit. This is the big secret?”  
   
“There’s no need to be a prat about it.”  
   
“Nit.”  
   
“Yes, that’s what I’m going to call it, just to annoy you. Knitting.” Merlin stormed out in a huff, knowing full well if Arthur put him in the stocks he was punishing himself as much as Merlin, in the long run. Scratchy old rag, indeed.  
   
A long time later, after Merlin had hungrily scoffed some stew and shown his creation to Gaius who was marginally more encouraging than Arthur, the door to Merlin’s room creaked open. Arthur poked his head round. His hair was still damp and Merlin resentfully considered how much he would have liked to run his fingers through it in lazy circles with Arthur’s head in his lap, while he told him about his day. Ordinarily that’s probably how it would have gone, but the path to greatness was fraught with setbacks and sacrifice and hair that had to dry all by itself and days that would not go recounted.  
   
“I thought I’d find you here, with your sticks and twine.” Arthur smirked like a smug git. A bath always improved his temperament.  
   
“They’re _needles_ and this is _wool_.” Merlin clenched his jaw. “So what’s it to be; stocks, stables or no sex for a week?”  
   
“Oh, don’t be so childish.”  
   
“I clean for you, bring you your meals, do everything you ask, save your arse without credit and I do it all without complaint …” Arthur raised his eyebrows. Merlin continued. “All right, but I do it even if I do complain a bit … I’m just asking you to show me a bit of support.” Then Merlin pouted (he’d learned that from Arthur) and tried to look hurt, even though he knew deep down he wasn’t really keeping up with the things that were actually his job.  
   
Arthur was a fool for Merlin, and Merlin knew it, so he wasn’t surprised that Arthur gave in with a weary sigh and a pained expression. “Merlin, this is folly. But you have two more days then things go back to normal.”  
   
Then Arthur slouched down on Merlin’s narrow bed and nestled his head in Merlin’s lap. His hair was still damp at the back of his neck, so Merlin teased his fingers through it in lazy circles while Arthur told him about the humiliating whipping he’d got at practice from Leon that afternoon, while he’d been distractedly wondering what had happened to his evermore absent manservant.   
   
~*~  
   
Merlin knitted until he felt like his fingers would seize up. After a whole pair socks (success!) he ran out of wool. Still, Merlin was resourceful and undeterred by such a minor setback. After two days, in addition to the first pair, he had knitted two pairs of multi-coloured socks and a rather jaunty green and brown hat. He ran all the way to Arthur’s chambers, deliberately crunching through the growing piles of autumn leaves, arriving there breathless and flushed, eager to show Arthur what he’d made.  
   
Arthur was amused (Merlin could tell by the crinkle around his eyes and the beginnings of a sweet smile). Arthur fingered the items then held them up to the fading daylight.  
   
“Admit it, you’re impressed.” Merlin shifted impatiently from foot to foot.  
   
“The colours are suspect, but the workmanship is sound. You made all this in two days?”   
   
“Yes, on top of helping Gaius.” He quickly realised he had barely seen Arthur this last two days and decided he shouldn’t want to rub that in too hard. Merlin put the hat on, knowing that Arthur found Merlin in headgear endearing.

"Your head looks like a bean in that."  Arthur frowned. "Yes, too beany, Merlin.  I don't like that hat at all."   
  
Arthur turned the socks over in his hands a few more times then kicked off his boots. Merlin could see what he was up to and quickly knelt to remove Arthur’s tatty woollen hose, then pulled the new socks on.  
   
Regarding with interest his newly-socked feet, Arthur said, “Merlin, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about what happened to the tapestry of the Battle of Norfolk in the old east wing?”  
   
“No, what has happened to it?” Merlin froze.  
   
“Part of it’s missing … to be specific, the whole section depicting the demise of the dark sorcerer, Orlous.”  
   
Merlin looked away, suddenly seeing something on the ceiling of great interest: a spider’s web, perhaps, or the image of the impaled sorcerer slowly unravelling in his hands while he yanked at the soft and richly-coloured lengths of wool and silk.   
   
“Oh. How tragic.”  
   
“Indeed.” Arthur wriggled his feet. “These socks, Merlin, are quite marvellous. There are merchants arriving from overseas next week who will no doubt be bringing threads of silk and skeins of finest wool. The winter is fast approaching and I need socks.”  
   
~*~  
   
It might be said the rest is history. But Merlin was not content to stop at socks, although they were becoming legendary. Now, (according to Arthur) Merlin might not have the strength to fight his way out of a sewing circle, but he sure as hell could muscle his way in. Soon all the ladies of Camelot were busy working on socks and stockings and even the odd scarf. The sewing circle rapidly became the knitting circle and before the first snowflake drifted over Camelot’s turrets to settle like a promise of the icier days to come, there were socks, stockings and mittens aplenty.   
   
The whole of Camelot was taken by this knitting craze. Even Morgana tried her hand, although more often than not, her needles ended up being used in some mock jousting or sword-fighting with Gwen, and Merlin had to quietly ask that if they would continue to keep being so disruptive they would have to leave. Merlin was getting rather weary of picking up Lady Beatrice’s dropped stitches.  
   
Morgana just shot him a withering look, picked up an extra long pair of size eights and haughtily resumed her knit one, purl one, like the show-off she was. Who wanted ruffle-topped angora bed-socks, anyway?  
   
With the arrival in Camelot of skeins of finely spun silk, Merlin became more ambitious. He fathomed out how to make more stitches and less stitches in order to give a garment shape and worked out that with a clever twist of the yarn, or by knitting stitches together he could create delicate little holes which could have ribbons or cords threaded through them. The silk was sensually soft and in addition to stockings there was a good deal of twitter amongst the knitting circle about the potential for apparel of a more intimate nature. The group huddled and schemed and it wasn’t long before word got out of the covert operations in the knitting circle and before you could say _cast off knit-wise_ everyone wanted in on it.   
   
No sooner had that happened, Arthur _accidentally_ chanced upon the next knitting session, only to find the Lady Isabel clad in just her undergarments, while the ladies of the knitting circle held up their half-finished work against her curvaceous buttocks and breasts. Merlin waved at him jovially, but Arthur was gawping at Lady Isabel. Still, he barely got a peek before he was shooed out the door again by Morgana.  
   
From the corridor Merlin heard him say petulantly, “But Merlin’s in there.”  
   
“Yes, Arthur, but it’s only Merlin. He’s completely harmless.”  
   
He heard Arthur guffaw in derision then stomp off, likely in a strop, but not before he muscled his way back in and said, “I expect to see you in my chambers for lunch, Merlin.”  
   
Merlin made a mental note to describe to Arthur in as much detail as possible the delightful curve and bounciness of the Lady Isabel’s knockers, because they really were quite luscious even if one were partial to a rippling bicep and an engorged cock.  
   
~*~  
   
By the time mid-winter had Camelot in its icy grip, all of court were warmly clad under and over with knitted creations. The cardigan soon became _de rigueur_ and even Gaius had to admit a grudging fondness for his cable-knit with handy front pockets.   
   
Merlin, however, would say his finest work was never seen by the hoards of Camelot. Arthur was extremely partial to his red silk-knitted undergarments once the chilliest weather came. Merlin had made himself a matching set, too. But none of those were quite as precious as the items that were kept under lock and key in Arthur’s chambers, for those cold nights when Merlin was in the mood for something special. He was particularly proud of the silvery sheen with which he had cleverly augmented the wool, which was as soft as kitten fur, yet looked as solid and manly as the metal which it mimicked. If he had used some magic to further this end, well Arthur didn’t mind one bit.  
   
See, Merlin had a thing not for knights, but for just one knight in particular. Being taken rough-handedly by his knight in glistening chainmail while tied to the bedposts, was one of his wildest fantasies.  But real chainmail was heavy and scratchy and tended to extinguish the fires of passion faster than a douse of icy well-water.    
   
So in the privacy of Arthur’s chambers, when most everyone of note was tucked under their covers in their merino bed-jackets, Arthur donned his hand-knitted chainmail, and gave Merlin a darn good seeing to.


End file.
